


Bigger On the Inside

by seashadows



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Always a Different Sex, Baby Dwarves, F/M, Fluff, Gender or Sex Swap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 15:07:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4396640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seashadows/pseuds/seashadows
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The newborn son of Dáis Ironfoot deserves a worthy name. </p><p>Written for Dáin Ironfoot Appreciation Week 2015 on Tumblr, for the Day 4 prompt "No, really, it was this big..."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bigger On the Inside

Very little frightened Dáis Náinul, Lord of the Iron Hills since her father’s death at the bloodiest battle Dwarvenkind had seen in generations, she who was called Ironfoot for her stoicism at the loss of her left foot and its replacement with a lump of iron. She had seen death and known loss that had broken many, all before she was old enough for the first sprout of her beard and her sideburns to connect along her jaw. Yet it was the minutes-old Dwarfling in her arms that made her shake now with mingled ecstasy and terror, for he was hers. 

“How could he be so wee?” she asked. “He felt huge comin’ oot of me.”

Omri cupped his son’s head, already fuzzed with black hair that would undoubtedly be thick as his own someday, in the palm of his stone-roughened hand. “Feels bigger comin’ oot than goin’ in,” he said. “That’s what you told me, isn’t it?”

“Don’t make me give ye a swat,” said Dáis wearily. She had never been so exhausted. Every piece and part of her body ached, especially the band of round, sagging flesh from just beneath her breasts to just above her thighs. Usually, her broad shoulders and wide hips and thick build allowed her to charge on where other Dwarrow might have failed, but not today. 

“Then I’m sorry,” Omri said. “No swats, please.” He swept his bushy black beard out of the way enough to bend and kiss the baby’s head. “Have ye a name for him yet? Náin, maybe, for your _’Adad?_ ”

That might be it. “Náin,” Dáis said slowly, letting the name fall from her lips and tongue. It didn’t sound right. “No, he’s not a Náin.” The babe grunted and butted his head into her chest, wee piggie, like he was agreeing. She freed a breast from under the blanket, just as the birthing healer had said to do when he snuffled for it, and let him root about her nipple. 

Omri leaned against the stone headboard of their bed to watch. “Wee Grór?” he suggested, and the babe latched on. Dáis let her head fall back. “After your grandfather.”

“No,” she said. It was a tempting name, to be sure, but it wasn’t his. “Grandda was quiet. Never raised his voice or made another raise theirs. This one…” she trailed off and looked at her son, who was busily nursing. “He bashed his wee head on the bones inside. Made me roar t’get him oot.” Then the name came to her, as if Mahal had whispered it in her ear. “Thorin.”

“His name?” asked Omri. 

“Aye, it is.” Her stubborn, _stupidly_ noble cousin, whom she’d worried about these past ten years or more when midwinter snows and summer sunshine alike brought no ravens from the Blue Mountains to the Iron Hills. The fear of the worst always lingered in the back of her head. “Wee Thorin Stonehead, gave his poor _’Amad_ such a clout. I might never bear another.”

With a pop, Thorin Stonehead released her nipple. “His head couldn’t have been _that_ big,” Omri said. “Look how small he is.”

Dáin settled the baby in the crook of her elbow, glaring at Omri. “Go soak yours. No, really, it was this big!” She held her hands as far apart as they could go without making her drop Thorin. Her Thorin, _her_ son. Every moment that went by made him more real. “Now,” she commanded, “coom into bed and hold him wi’ me.”

“As m’Lord o’ the Iron Hills wishes,” said Omri. He slipped into bed beside her and wound his arms about her. Her one full breast was aching, her belly throbbed, and her arms had cramped long ago from holding the baby, but that could be dealt with later. Just now, there was only Thorin Stonehead and his enormous, unfocused brown eyes. Just now, she could be his world. 

“ _Lukhudel_ ,” she said, _light of all lights_ , and tapped his squashed button of a nose with her fingertip. Her dearest, her gemstone, her Thorin. There might be more in her life, but he would always shine brightest of all.


End file.
